


Cold Hands, Warm Heart

by riverstones



Series: Tangent Space [5]
Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: F/M, issues lots of issues, old batman is still a playboy, the world needs more bmww
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-10-28 00:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10820145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverstones/pseuds/riverstones
Summary: A hired assassin targets Lena Luthor for her role in shutting down the pirate organization, and the recovering Warhawk is assigned as her bodyguard.In the year 2056, after Batman Beyond and the JLU Epilogue, geriatric Bruce Wayne unwittingly imbibes ambrosia at his own wedding and gets a reluctant second shot at life.Each episode can stand alone but is better read in order. If you had to pick just one, please read Ep.2 “Feel My Pain" which truly sets the tone of the series.





	1. Cool With It

A small plane cut through the stillness of outer space just above the earth's atmosphere. The glow of twin jet engines were barely visible under black concave wings as it steadily made its way towards the Justice League’s preeminent headquarters. Seemingly unnoticed, it docked onto one of the Watchtower’s lower piers.

The dark costumed figure strode purposely into the monitor womb, his steps making hardly any sound. Superman looked up from his terminal to greet him. “Bruce,” he said, somewhat surprised. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Batman went straight to the point. “This is a bit of a personal matter. I'm calling in a favor.”

“What is it?”

“There is a generous prize on both Oliver Harper and Lena Luthor's heads. The timing makes me suspect Black Flag is behind it. Probably one of the leaders we haven't lured into the open yet. The notice is making rounds among the metahuman bounty hunters, and it makes me concerned. Green Arrow can handle himself, but Lena won't stand a chance. I can't spare Terry. He's not suited for this kind of task in any case.” He took a breath. “I need a bodyguard for Lena.”

“A personal bodyguard for Lena Luthor,” Clark repeated mechanically. “Does Diana know you're coming here? To make this specific request?”

“I couldn't tell her the exact hour, because I wasn't sure myself, but she knows I'd make the trip today.”

“Why do you need this? I'm not saying I won't help, but what's Lena to you?”

“Lena is like a daughter to me,” Bruce answered. Clark raised a Kryptonian eyebrow at him. He continued, emphasizing each word, “Just like all the Robins and the Batgirls I've taken under my wing.”

“I see. Didn't you and Barbara end up…?”

“What's with the questions, Clark? I thought we were past this.”

Superman could not keep the sting out of his retort, “You're married to the most wonderful woman in the world, and you're asking me to do a private favor for a girl whom you have often publicly flirted with—Alexander Luthor’s only child, no less—who is young enough to be your granddaughter! Do you have any freaking idea how the situation looks like?” A pause. Clark sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. In a calmer tone he said, “I'm sorry, Bruce. That was low of me. I do know better. I guess I just miss Lois and Jon.”

The thirty-year old Bruce would have left it at that. But, fifty years onward, he wasn't the detached man he once was. Fifty years changed people. So, in a manner that the young dark knight of vengeance would not have done, he admitted, “It was lonely.”

Clark looked at him expectantly, listening. He explained, “The years after I left the League were lonely. The endless nights of crime-fighting had a price and took its toll on my body. I suffered a stroke and lost the use of my left leg. I lost count how many surgeries it took before I could walk again. And I lost other things.

“It was tough, having to face death on a daily basis. Shameful. I wasn't facing the kind of honorable death you could find in the battlefield. Instead I worried, unable to leave the manor, wondering if I would wake up the next morning.

“Terry came around, and for a while I was okay. But the loneliness wasn't something he could understand. Then Terry went on to have a real family, and I was mostly left alone again. Until Lena.

“In a certain way, Lena understood me. She’s an unbelievably strong empath, so there was no way I could hide from her what I was going through. She has no family, plus she grew up carrying all that guilt over what her father had done. Youngest CEO of LexCorp. You can't deny that we had a lot in common. Lena needed a mentor, but… truth be told it was I that needed to mentor her.”

After a long silence, Clark smiled warmly at him. “I've always known that the brooding bat has a human heart. I'm glad that now you know it too.”

Behind the mask, Bruce's eyes narrowed. “Quit while you're ahead.”

 

The set of buildings occupied by the offices of a single multinational company encompassed an entire block within Metropolis. Located at some distance from the city center, away from the tightly-packed skyscrapers that made up the city's prime real estate, this particular company could afford to be surrounded by trees and open spaces.

A dark-skinned man loitered in front of the foremost structure. Six-foot-two, muscular, close-cropped black hair, wearing an off-white polo shirt, denim slacks and red-striped sneakers. A medium gray backpack slung over both shoulders contained his equipment. He was supposed to be incognito. He couldn't do anything about his still-healing right arm slung inside an orthopedic cast, but his instructions were to be discreet, not camouflaged, and he figured his ensemble was good enough.

 _Never imagined I’d ever get to actually visit LexCorp,_ he thought to himself. _And on a goodwill mission, no less._

As the son of John Stewart and Shayera Hol, two among the Justice League founders, while growing up he had never heard any good stories about Alexander Luthor's corporation. During the turn of the twenty-first century, LexCorp had been one of the prominent companies in the field of emerging technologies, particularly mechatronics, and was often in direct competition with Wayne Enterprises. Unlike the latter, LexCorp’s products had from time-to-time been put into applications that were ambiguously ethical. He remembered his father’s bedtime tales, and there were many. Looking back at it now, his father had probably exaggerated some of the more exciting parts.

In his mind, he knew that all of his parents’ stories were solidly in the past. The company had long ago moved away from robotics and nowadays dealt almost exclusively in renewable energy. LexCorp had not been run by a megalomaniac for over a quarter-century. But biases die hard, and Rex couldn't help his uneasiness.

The fifteen-meter statue of Lex Luthor that he remembered from his parents’ old photos was nowhere to be seen. At the center of the square, two stories high, stood a machine that looked like a combination wind turbine and solar panel. Flowering shrubs grew around the contraption, bountiful, elegantly arranged and cared for. Witch hazel, two kinds of roses, and painted ferns. To his surprise, he observed that the machine was activated, and was in fact feeding the plants.

He had read about these a while back. Instead of producing electricity, it used energy from the sun to siphon elements from the air and soil to allow plants to grow in places that they normally could not. The idea had been to use the device in terraforming uninhabitable earth-like planets outside the solar system. However, because the number of government and/or corporate entities that actually had any space exploration programs were zero, this never came to fruition. Three years ago LexCorp, after acquiring several patents from Wayne Enterprises, successfully modified the machines to work more efficiently upon earth itself. The machines were then deployed across the globe as a small but essential part of the _Wayne-Luthor No Hungry Home World Food Program_ , with the ultimate goal of permanently ending world hunger. The program has been mostly successful, three years on and going strong.

The sight of LexCorp displaying a symbol of hope instead of a memorial to a supervillain made Rex feel better about his assignment. Just a little.

 

“ID, please?” asked the doe-eyed lady behind the information counter.

He pulled out his wallet and handed her a card, and she started on seeing his Justice League identification. She passed it under the mini UV light on her desk to verify its authenticity. Satisfied of his credentials, she handed the card back.

“Mr. Warhawk? Rex Stewart?” He nodded in affirmation. Most Leaguers possessed a secret identity. For himself, since his father didn't, and as an half-alien, he didn't see the point why he should. “You're expected. Penthouse level. Elevators are on the corridor to the left.”

Before he could move away, she first had something to ask. “Uhm, sir?” she whispered covertly, “May I have your autograph? I'm very sorry, I know this is a little unprofessional, but my daughter is a big Justice League fan,” she grinned sheepishly. “Please, can you sign it, ‘to Tasha’?”

She shyly handed him a fountain pen and a white sheet of bond paper. He picked up the pen with his left hand. Then he hesitated. He was right-handed. Putting on a game face, he bravely transferred the pen to his constrained appendage and awkwardly attempted to write.

The receptionist gasped, “Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry for the trouble, it's so inconsiderate of me,” she whispered, furiously apologetic.

He held up his good hand to reassure her. “It's alright,” he said. “No big deal.” He finished the note with a flourish. She thanked him as she took the paper, grinning happily.

As he turned the end of the corridor, he thought he heard her squeal.

 

When he exited the elevator, he could overhear two people in the middle of a low-key discussion. The baritone was a tall, dark-haired man in a navy-blue business suit and saw him immediately. He acknowledged Rex’s presence while politely remained listening to the other. The blonde lady in the seafoam dress faced away from him, straight-backed with her hands crossed over her chest.

“I'll keep that in mind, Lena,” said the man.

“Oh, please do,” said Lena. She held her arm out, and the two shook hands. “I shall eagerly await your reply.”

The man left, passing him. Lena turned, and he saw her in person for the first time. An unadorned silver Catholic cross hung upon a long chain upon her neck, dully gleaming. She had a plain face, except her eyes were a vivid green.

“Can I help you?”

“Good morning, Miss Luthor. I'm Rex Stewart from the Justice League. Superman sent me today.”

“Ah.” She clasped her hands. “Warhawk?” Remembering her manners, she held her hand out. “Please call me Lena. Everyone does.”

Her handshake was firm.

“So you're gonna be my escort?”

“I prefer the term bodyguard.”

“I've seen you in the news. I think you're amazing. I think all the League members are. But I never realized you were so…” she trailed off, unable to find words.

“What do you mean?”

She indicated the cast on his arm. “Well, either Superman thinks I'm easy to guard, or he trusts you that much, he sent you even if you haven't fully recovered. I know enough about him that it could only be the latter.” She clarified, “I mean it as a compliment.”

“Thanks,” he replied, keeping his expression neutral. He still wasn't sure what to make of her.

Lena distractedly scratched her cheek as if thinking. “Can I get an opinion?”

“Sure.”

“Matthew McGinnis,” she said, referring to the man who had recently left. “That young man is a tycoon in the making. I wonder if Bruce knows. He probably does, right?”

“Huh?”

She looked at him, then blinked twice. “Nevermind. I’ve been trying to recruit Mr. McGinnis into LexCorp but none of my offers have gotten even a nibble. Maybe I’m not convincing enough? Can you give me some insight? Do you think I should try to be more persuasive or should I back off and try again later?”

“I honestly have no idea,” he answered. She blinked again. To his consternation, he discovered himself getting irritated with those emerald orbs.

“Well, I’m honestly sorry you have been forcefully stuck with me. Come on, then. Let's get you settled.”

 

The Justice League International branch were headquartered in Helsinki, Finland. Past office hours and on a Saturday, Wonder Woman walked down the hall towards the one-room office of Themysciran affairs.

“Knock knock,” she said without actually knocking as she opened the oak door. “Santa's here,” she announced.

“Presents!” Donna Troy jumped up from behind a stack of paperwork. “Sis! It's been a while. A few months? How are you? How is married life?”

Diana laughed genially. It was always a pleasure to visit her sister. “Married life is okay. You'd find most of it boring. Except for the odd sleeping arrangements, it's not that much different from being single.” She handed her sister a bag containing Christmas gifts, which the other accepted gratefully. Strictly, they didn't celebrate Yuletide on Paradise Lost, but no Amazon was going to turn down free presents.

“I'm here on business. Any news on the EWS?”

Natural magic protected their island home from outsiders. But mankind's population growth over the last half century meant that unexplored ocean space had dwindled exponentially. The Amazonian fishing boats had sighed more ships in the past ten years than they had in the past ten centuries combined. At some point the weak magic protecting them might not be enough.

So they turned to technology, and they decided that their most viable tech would be an Early Warning System. The EWS would alert them to any ship that arrived within range of their island, and give them well enough time to deploy warriors that could divert the intruders away.

The magic would still be there. But technology and magic together meant Themyscira would have a better chance.

Donna Troy, as official ambassador of Themyscira, had shopped around for a trustworthy supplier. Such a huge undertaking was of course going to be expensive, and as of a couple of weeks ago, the negotiations with their supplier had stalled. Wonder Woman had then gotten pulled into League duties and was unable to follow up.

Donna told her the news. “Everything is all set. Let me tell you that things started to go really smoothly for us after your public announcement—you know, that talk show with Steve Harvey. Apparently, our supplier is an arm of Wayne Enterprises, and they gave us a really good price. It made me abruptly change my mind about your husband.

Plus we got a bonus. Our liaison mentioned they’d like to fit the EWS with cloaking tech that will make the entire island effectively invisible from all types of sensors. Light, the entire electromagnetic spectrum, radar, doppler, sonar. The island can’t be observed until you practically hit it. It’s the most advanced developed yet.” Donna looked impressed. “Did you know anything about this?”

Diana's jaw dropped. “I’ve been field testing Bruce’s cloaking prototypes, and he’s had several breakthroughs just recently. I know he already uses it on the Batwing, but this is the first time I’ve heard he was going to apply it to anything so large. He hasn’t told me.”

“Saving it as a Christmas present, maybe?” Donna surmised. She abruptly did a double-take. “Wait, did you say Batwing?” She clasped her hands over her mouth in astonishment, then whispered, “Bruce Wayne is Batman?!”

Oops. “I thought you already knew. Mother does.”

“I'll bet mom does. Ahahaha,” Donna’s laugh echoed loudly in the empty room. She clutched at her stomach, overcome with mirth. “Haaah, now I get it. It all makes so much sense.” She pressed her lips together, her eyes glinting as she brought up memories that, with her newfound knowledge, suddenly had a different facet to it—or several. “So much sense now. Oh Hera. Batman is my brother-in-law.” She patted her older sister on the shoulder in reassurance. “Don't worry, the secret is safe with me.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for not inviting me to your wedding. I may not have liked the guy for how he treated you years ago, but I’m still your sister.”

“Sorry. It was purely a spur of the moment thing.”

“But what about Mom!”

“Mother would have killed me. You wouldn’t.” The younger Amazon pouted at her. Diana briefly looked out the window. The orange-hued sky told her it was just past sunset, and she had to get going.

“Sis,” Donna turned to her seriously. “Why is your name on the Lantern Corps roster?”

Silence. Diana opened her mouth to speak, but Donna grew agitated and didn't wait for her to reply. “You know that planet messes up metahumans, right? Luckily us Amazons were immune. We can laugh at it now, but the other Titans had it pretty horrible when we were there. Beastman lost the ability to talk. Starfire kept sinking onto the ground, and she had to fly constantly just to stay where she was. Raven couldn’t maintain a corporeal form at all on the planetary surface. She ended up sitting the war out in a starship doing intelligence analysis.

“Do you really have to go?” she pleaded. “You were hurt pretty bad last time. The Lantern Corps can get someone else to quell the small rebellion.”

Diana shook her head. “I have unfinished business there.”

“What does Bruce say?”

“He’s—” _cool with it,_ she wanted to say, but the words refused to come out no matter how she tried. Ah, of course. She was the demigoddess of truth and no falsehood may escape her lips. Instead she said, “He doesn’t like it, but he won’t stop me.”


	2. Selfish Philanthropy

“I'm surprised you know how to drive.” Lena said with a slight quirk to her lips.

“And why is that?”

“I sorta just assumed you flew everywhere. I guess that's silly.” She grinned sheepishly at him, before turning her gaze out the passenger window.

Rex Stewart had his good hand on the wheel of an official LexCorp vehicle, a beige four-seater sedan. He had insisted on driving despite his bad arm. Most vehicles those days used automatic transmission, could be driven with minimal input, and didn’t use foot pedals, therefore allowing the handicapped to drive. Piece of cake. It might seem remarkable to those who only knew him by his Justice League persona, but he in fact knew how to drive a fifty-year-old manual transmission.

Early morning sunlight shone through the windows on his side of the car as they drove westward on the north bank of Metropolis bordering the river. Today was Christmas Eve.

“I'm surprised we're taking a beat-up Volvo,” he commented.

The other wrinkled her nose. “I never liked the fancy limos. I only ever use them where it's necessary. Besides, a fancy car is just asking for trouble where we're going.”

“So where are we going?”

“To the edge of No Man's Land.”

“In the Gotham suburbs?” he asked. “You're not scared?”

“Why would I be? The poorest of Gotham is a far cry from the slums of Manila.” Her sudden change in tone caused him to glance briefly at her, but it passed quickly. He turned the car into the suspension bridge crossing the Delaware. The sublime waters of the river glistened below them, disturbed only by a gentle landward breeze. Beautiful day. Normally, he would enjoy it.

There were plenty of worse jobs in the world than being Lena Luthor's live-in bodyguard. It had been six days since he embarked on this special assignment of indefinite duration. Officially, he was still on medical leave from the League. But the two months he had spent recuperating from a fractured arm had him bored out of his wits, so when Clark called to ask if he would take this mission in an unofficial capacity, he jumped eagerly at the opportunity. Anything to get out of his apartment. This was his choice and he ought to make the best of it. So far, it had been hit or miss.

His mornings started at 6:00 am, half an hour before the lady got out of bed, so he was ready to meet her in the living room of her 350-square meter penthouse before she began her workday. Since the girl's posh residence was located at the top floor of the LexCorp 42-story main headquarters, their commute to the office was practically non-existent.

The week before the Yuletide holidays meant that Lena had to attend more events than usual. There was often one conference in the morning and a couple of parties in the afternoon. The conferences, held at LexCorp proper, were no problem at all. However, the Christmas parties involved quite a bit of travel in and out of the city—not to mention the crowds—and presented him some challenges.

He managed quite well, if he did say so himself. He never lost sight of her except when she used the bathroom. Sticking to a wall while keeping his ward in his line of vision had generally sufficed, but during the more packed affairs he stuck by her elbow. Lena was cooperative, and discreet. She introduced him simply as Rex, her associate, recently hired.

During the few instances they arrived back at LexCorp before dinnertime, Lena would steer them towards the cafeteria on the twenty-third floor to get takeout. He would carry the brown paper bag upstairs and they would eat in silence in her smallish kitchen. After the meal, they moved to the living room. She would sit on one end of the off-white couch with her laptop in hand to …audit stuff. He took the other end of the couch and the TV remote, and they would sorta just lounge around like that until bedtime.

He had to acknowledge that her guest room was more palatable than his spartan Watchtower quarters. En suite bathroom, double bed, desk, netbook, landline phone, a shelf stocked with fiction and nonfiction classics, all the basic amenities. He also had a flat-screen TV with a video game console—the model was several years old but adequate. Pretty cushy job all in all, he grudgingly admitted. He almost thought it was a joke.

Lena herself was generally fun to be around. The kind of girl who blatantly wore her heart out on her sleeve and couldn’t ever hold a straight face. She drank a lot of green rooibos tea. She was efficient with her work, but became ditzy once work hours were over. No one who got to know her habits would think she was a savvy business executive, but he had learned long ago to never judge a person by appearances. They got along well enough, and he had to admit it was mostly through her initiative. One issue he had was, when it came to certain things, she was extremely stubborn.

She insisted, “I really don’t need a bodyguard. Honestly, I wonder why Superman would assign you to protect me. He and I aren’t even friends. I barely talk to him once a year.”

He merely shrugged. “No idea.”

She observed, “You don’t seem to have many ideas.”

“I do, just not about the questions you’ve asked so far.”

“Touché. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

“I’m pretty sure you did.”

She poked her tongue out at him, but refused to drop the issue. “Again, I don’t need a bodyguard. You know about my power, right? You must have been briefed about that.” He nodded, remembering the thick file Superman had sent him. She went on, “Let me tell you that it takes extreme prejudice to be able to pull a trigger to take someone’s life, and I can sense that from five kilometers away. Ten kilometers if the guy really, really hates me. I’m sure it’s alright if you just go on along your merry way.”

If her power was that strong, and she could sense duplicity, then her colleagues at LexCorp must certainly be only well-intentioned people she could trust. That made him feel good, odd as it was. But that was beside the point. “You may be able to sense the gunner, but you can’t stop a bullet, can you?”

“I could at least—”

“Look, I just do what I’m told to do.” They’ve had this discussion before. Ten times in fact. He was keeping count.

“Well, me too.” That was a new reply. She slumped into her seat. “Join the food program, he said. See the world, he said. It’ll be fun, he said. I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole bodyguard thing was Bruce’s idea too. Somehow. Even if that doesn't make sense.”

He had to ask, “You keep talking about a Bruce. Who is he, anyway?”

“Huh, I thought the name of the food program made it obvious. He's my mentor, Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises.”

“The old playboy?” he said. She winced at the term. Apparently he hit a nerve. “He was in the news recently. Can't remember why.”

“The success of our food program?”

“Nah, more sensational.”

She rolled her eyes. “Turned immortal after getting married to Wonder Woman? She's your teammate, I can't believe you missed that.”

“That's it. Hey,” He got defensive, “I had been decommissioned for a month before it happened. I have never been assigned together with Wonder Woman, and I go out of my way to avoid cafeteria gossip.” Especially recently, after rumors about him and Mareena had begun to float around.

“But don't you read the news at all?”

“Not much. Okay, I did see you on the news, maybe twice. Your mentor was never in it.”

She explained, “He doesn't like publicity at all nowadays. I take care of organization management, basically all the extrovert work. The media gives me sole credit for the food program but they have no idea how much Bruce does for it behind the scenes. It's not money either. Anyone can give money. But the logistics, the tech… made with his own two hands.”

They drove in silence for a while. He glanced at their GPS. They were half an hour away from their destination. “Cold hands, warm heart,” Rex finally said.

“Huh?”

“My dad often says it. It means even if someone doesn't look like he cares, he may actually care a lot and just never show it.” In a lighter tone, he added, “My mom is a little like that too.”

 

Mid-morning found them driving into the most poverty-stricken community within the Gotham residential areas. Eighty year old run-down houses with peeling paint and unkempt yards all around, except for the occasional well-tended domicile dotting the urbanscape. Not a soul could be seen outdoors. They passed by a dilapidated community gate, which broke the span of a long concrete wall. He frowned. He had a suspicion the gates were once used to lock people in, and not out.

Their destination was a warehouse-like building with a red-painted aluminum roof and whitewashed walls. Rex carefully parallel parked by the curb. As he turned off the car’s ignition, Lena explained, “Medical Mission. A necessity in this area, but this place had been neglected by the government for some time. Volunteers kept it running, sometimes with money out of their own pockets. About two months ago there was a suicide nearby—the guy was an obsessive Justice League fan. The news photos were pretty gruesome, but that’s the media for you. Before he died he had been stealing his meds from here. I’m really sad about what happened, however that incident brought this place to our attention. Now we are able to do something.

“Today's itinerary,” she said as she handed him a list on a folded piece of bond paper. She gestured at the building with her thumb. “Do you wanna go with me or stay in the car? It's cool, either way.”

He skimmed through the list. Two more medical missions after this one. Six homeless shelters. Across Gotham and Starling City before going back round to Metropolis. Through the poorest, most crime-ridden neighborhoods. On Christmas Eve. When the rest of her staff were away on holiday. Why didn’t she tell him about this before today?

He realized he had said that last sentence aloud, because Lena replied to him, evasively, “I have to do this, Rex. I’ve been doing this for years without a special bodyguard, and I’ve been fine.” She then opened the passenger door, got out, and headed for the building. Rex promptly followed suit.

It didn't make sense. _She_ didn't make sense. _Nobody can be this good,_ he thought. _Especially not Alexander Luthor’s biological daughter._

She stopped walking, then turned to face him. “Is there anything you want to tell me? I have been nothing but accommodating to you, you know. We have been playing this game all week.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Please don't lie to me. We were just talking about my powers. I can sense your distrust.” Her voice was soft, but firm. “l have dealt with people like you all my life, Rex. Do you have any idea what it's like growing up as the daughter of a supervillain? And that's not even the worst of it, not by a long shot.”

Her green eyes glinted and he had the distinct impression of a sleeping dragon waking with anger. “I'm an empath. I didn't ask to be born this way. Whether I want to or not, I can feel everyone's emotions. Anger, sadness, pain! So, let me tell you, no, all my philanthropy actually has very, very selfish reasons behind it. I'm not doing it out of any goodness of heart. That tiny dose of sensed happiness I get everytime I make someone smile means I don't have to deal with feeling their despair!”

He stood still and found no words to reply. But it wasn’t necessary as they were interrupted by the screeching of children playing tag. Lena turned in time to see a pair of toddlers chasing each other to the side of the mission, where they disappeared from view.

She was furious. “Kids? Why are there kids here? This is a homeless mission! I thought we've found all of them shelters already! Did we miss any? No kid should be homeless! Not in my city!”

Her indignation at him seemed all but forgotten as she stomped off towards the building.

 

The tan-walled four-bedroom bungalow with the terracotta roof was, as far as anyone was concerned, a normal household where lived a normal family. Christmas decor lithely adorned the doors and windows. Two inches of snow were piled on the rafters. The driveway was shoveled, and a couple of cars were parked nearby. A crooked snowman stood out front. The guest couldn’t decide if the snowman was welcoming him or telling him to go away.

He rang the bell. Terry McGinnis and his three-day stubble opened the door. “Glad you could make it, Bart.”

“Glad to be here,” the speedster replied. He looked quite different out of his uniform. Strawberry blonde hair slicked back, with two rings on his right ear and a gold ball-piercing above his left eyebrow made him look like a regular punk. He handed Terry a couple of gift-wrapped boxes. “This is from Clark, and this is from Mareena.”

“Thanks,” Terry took the presents and ushered him into the house. The presents were promptly placed under the nearby Christmas tree. “Is anyone else coming? How’s everybody? How’s Rex healing up?”

“Same old, same old,” Bart replied. He spied Dana McGinnis in the open kitchen area with her and Terry's latest bundle of joy swaddled in a pink aztec-print sling on her chest. He waved to them in greeting, cheerily reciprocated. Turning back to the dark-haired man, in a lower voice he said, “Mareena and Kai-Ro are setting up the decorations for the League party tonight, and you’re my excuse to get out of trash duty. Rex hasn’t stopped by the Watchtower since his accident, although I heard he’s on assignment right now.”

“The barbecue is out back," Terry said. “My work colleagues are here. You’ve met them?”

He nodded. “Yep, I met them last time. No introductions necessary.”

“Make yourself at home, then. You know where everything is.” The other smiled warmly. “I need to help Dana with dessert.”

“No problem.”

The house had changed since his last visit. There were more stuff—mostly more kid-sized things such as a high chair, a play kitchen, a bike with training wheels. As always it felt cozy. Warm and welcoming. A true home. It amazed him no end how Terry managed to keep his day job and his family, yet still possessed the energy to go on midnight crusades. It was not unusual for superheroes to have real life partners, but many quit their alter egos the moment little ones got along the way.

Terry never did join the League, he thought with disappointment. He knew Superman had extended the invitation a couple more times over the years. After the next-generation Batman had declined thrice in total, the Kryptonian stopped asking. However, despite never enlisting with them in an official capacity, the Gotham Bat could be counted on for assistance whenever they needed him. Maybe it was just as well.

He knew that Dana knew of Terry’s nighttime gig. She didn't know about his, or of their other League friends. It was possible that she may have figured some out, since Clark Kent's secret identity had not been secret for many years and Dana was no fool. But they never talked about it. In this business, for good reason, the guiding policy was to Don't Ask, Don't Tell.

He passed by the dining table overflowing with festive foods. He rubbed his hands gleefully in anticipation, “Alright!”

“Stop right there!” Dana shouted loudly from the kitchen, “Two plates! You can have as much food as you can fit on two plates, no more! Leave some for the other guests!”

“Yes, ma'am!” he shouted back. Under his breath, he added, “I ate before coming here, anyway.”

He walked over to the stack of fancy white china, which had been set up at a smaller table near the double doors leading to the backyard. He heard people mulling around outside. As he was about to pick up a pair of utensils, he heard a different sound from deeper inside the house. Something like a muffled sob. He followed his ears until he reached the nursery.

Five-year old Michael, Terry’s eldest, was sitting on the floor with his toys. He had his head slumped down into his arms.

“Hey,” the speedster greeted. The child looked up.

“Bart!”

“What’s up, little man? Enjoying your Christmas so far?”

“Mostly good,” the little man admitted. Then his face fell. “Ever since my grandpa married Wonder Woman, he hasn't been visiting. He left early again today. They didn't even wait for the other guests.” Bart frowned in thought. What did Michael mean? Didn’t Wondy marry the billionaire? He noticed the toys on the carpet around the boy. Justice League action figures. Ah, so Michael was role playing. There were figures of the active founders—Superman, Wonder Woman, and the Martian Manhunter. There were Big Barda and Terry’s Batman (although he was certain the child remained unaware that he was playing with a replica of his own father).

Okay, he could roleplay too. “Nah, that's impossible,” he said as he sat down and grabbed an action figure in yellow and red. “Because Wonder Woman married the Flash.”

Michael looked at him quizzically. “What? No, she married grandpa.”

“Well, what if the Flash,” he held the toy by the waist and made it pretend-run on the floor, “ran so fast he travelled back in time to stop your grandpa’s wedding and married Wonder Woman himself?”

“You're funny. Flash is my second favorite hero ever.”

He made a face. “And who, may I ask, could be better than Flash?”

“Batman, of course!”

He made another face. “But can Batman do this?” He made the speedy figure circle thrice around the Batman doll before pretend-kicking it with pretend-sound effects.

The boy was laughing now. “Oh, yeah? What if Batman takes out his batarang and...”

“Michael!” Dana’s voice came from the direction of the corridor. “Time for lunch! Bart! I said you could have two plates, not that you can't have any. The food hasn't been touched!”

“Yes ma’am!” they replied at the same time.

“Coming!”

“On our way!”

 

The kids were visitors, not homeless, they found out—children of former homeless helped by the mission, who became volunteers themselves after their situations had improved. Lena talked to the families for a bit, then shooed the children off to play after making them promise to stick within sight of the adults. She then proceeded into an animated discussion with the volunteers. They talked about recruitment, construction, and management of additional funds. Then they went on to discuss everything in detail for hours, turning the ideas into concrete, actionable plans.

Rex checked his watch. Already past noon. They would have to rush if they still intended to visit every location on their list.

Something moved at the edge of his vision, and he turned his head to look. When did the two kids become three? He quickly scanned the room, and noticed two men leaning against the far wall. A tanned brunette of mixed race, stocky build and medium height, and a tall, slender dark-blonde. Their business casual attire indicated that these men were neither volunteers, nor homeless. They held hands, and seemed to be waiting.

The discussion was over. The volunteers left with their families as they made plans for a late lunch, which Lena, to their disappointment, would not be able to join As she made to go on her own way, the men approached her. Rex, on alert, stepped forward until he was by her side.

“Hello,” said the girl. “Can I help you?”

The taller of the two men spoke first. “Miss Luthor,” he said in an amiable tone, “We heard you’d be here today.” He introduced himself and his companion. Like some of the volunteers, they too were former homeless helped by Lena. Not by the mission, but by a different charity affiliated with the Wayne-Luthor food program.

Rex was close enough to covertly scrutinize the couple. The taller man looked to be in his early 40s, with streaks of white in his hair and a slight sag to his skin reminiscent of someone who had lost weight possibly from sickness, but was now on the way back to health. The other was younger, in his late 30s, and he too showed subtle signs of a person who had recently pulled through some tough times. Both men, he observed, were now clearly doing better. What they said seemed to check out, and he stood more at ease.

“Thanks to you,” the dark-haired man spoke in turn, “not only did I manage to get back on my feet, but,” he motioned to the remaining kid, who then ran over to them, “we were finally able to adopt him.”

“We’d like to give back,” the other handed Lena an envelope. “It’s not much, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you very much,” Lena said. It was evident from her expression that she was touched. “I promise you this will be put to good use.”

They said their goodbyes. The two men smiled at each other. They each took a hand of their adopted son, then walked off together. The little boy gave a final wave before they exited through the doorway.

Rex, whose presence seemed be forgotten, watched them walk out. He bided his time, while he heard some funky sounds coming from his ward.

“They had so much love, Rex,” she said brokenly. “So much love.” Deadpan, he pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her, politely ignoring the trickle of fluids flowing from her eyes and nose. She snorted into cloth in a very unladylike manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INFREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS
> 
> # Will there be more Wonderbat?  
> Yes! Because, in this universe, without Wonderbat Bruce would already be dead from old age.
> 
> # Well, where is it?  
> Sorry! It's coming, promise.
> 
> # Will there be a happy ending?  
> Of course! Because I don't know how to write non-happy endings.
> 
> # Wait, there's an ending?  
> Yes! I wrote the final scene even before I wrote chapter 2. I just have trouble filling in the in-betweens.
> 
> # Why is it called Tangent Space?  
> It's a mathematical/computer graphics term that refers to a special kind of real vector space, which incidentally is how I imagine multiverses to work. Bonus: it's word play on "Alternate Universe."
> 
> # The episodes are short!  
> Yeah! Sorry about that, but I don't have the writing skill to prolong a story before it starts to get boring. I figured four chapters per arc (equivalent to a 30 min TV episode) keeps the ball rolling.
> 
> # Is the Justice League fan mentioned in this chapter the same guy who kidnapped Bruce in Feel My Pain?  
> Yes.
> 
> # Does that mean Bruce contacted Lena behind the scenes and instructed her to help the medical mission mentioned in Feel My Pain, but kept all details about his involvement (both with the bad guy and with the charity) unknown from the public somehow?  
> Yes. In case you missed it. I mean, this is just a crappy™ fanfic, I'm not expecting you to remember all the details. I wouldn't.
> 
> # What is Purple's name from Black Flag?  
> Dunno. We won't see her again so I didn't bother giving her a name. I tried to keep all OCs to a minimum. All the OC villains are petty criminals, so they'll pop up for a couple of chapters max and then they're gone forever.
> 
> # How old is Terry/Matt/Rex/Mareena/the Titans?  
> Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon are in their 60s. The Titans are roughly the same age. Terry and Rex are in their 30s. Matt is 9 years younger than his brother (23?). Mareena is 27ish and Lena is 25. I try not to think too hard about it. It makes my brain melt. Sometimes a little suspension of disbelief is necessary, I'm sorry.
> 
> # What continuity does this story belong to anyway?  
> Justice League Unlimited and Batman Beyond animated series crossed with Gal Gadot/Lynda Carter/Comics-Golden-Age Diana, because this story only works with 3000-year old Diana. Other than that, I tried to keep true to Batman Beyond canon. I am intentionally ignoring the official Beyond comics.
> 
> # Why are you ignoring the Beyond comics?  
> Because I feel that it had reduced Wonder Woman's character to being defined solely by her love interest. The comics actually inspired the early parts of Tangent Space in the sense that "this is how I think Wonder Woman should have been portrayed instead."
> 
> # Why choose the Beyond continuity, then?  
> Because any Wonderbat I would write during the JL era gets written out during the events of Beyond. I wanted a close-to-canon permanent happy ever after, and that can only occur after Batman Beyond.
> 
> # Why 3000-year old Diana?  
> Because I do not see the JL canon 23-year old Diana taking a chance with old Bruce. On the other hand an ancient Diana, who has seen many generations of men come and gone, would grab him with both hands. Also, I think ancient Diana is far more interesting; even immortals have room for character development.
> 
> # Where did Lena come from? Didn't Luthor get sucked into that space wall 40 years before Batman Beyond?  
> That’s what the wiki says. But he didn't officially die, so maybe he came back for a short time 25 years ago and that's how Lena popped up. It's not relevant to the story so I haven't thought about it. I really just needed another protagonist, and I wanted a cute girl, and it was a toss-up between Lena, Mareena and Raven. I went with Lena because she and LexCorp had more possibilities.
> 
> # Butbutbut Warhawk/Mareena!  
> Yes! Isn't that canon?
> 
> # Why Bart Allen/Impulse as the Flash?  
> Because Danica Williams hadn't been introduced when I started on this fic.
> 
> # Is Superman getting a love interest?  
> Yes and No! I ship him with Amaterasu the sun goddess. She won't appear until another hundred years later, so Supes stays Forever Alone in this story.
> 
> # Did you just say 100 years?  
> Yes.
> 
> # Where's Wally?  
> Retired. He retired to a different era, so he's Somewhere in the timestream. Yes, he is still alive and well. I made up my mind just now, he's in 1950s Hawaii.
> 
> # Will Bruce and Diana have children?  
> Helena Wayne in canon is Bruce and Selina's kid, but here she is Bruce and Diana's. She is not in this story and I am not writing pregnant Diana because it's not my thing (a lot of great fanfics have already explored that scenario and there is nothing I can add anyway). Helena will make a cameo in the distant finale.


	3. What We Do Best

The theme for this year's Justice League Christmas party was ‘Retro Candy’. The tables had been moved to the sides of the watchtower cafeteria to provide party space. Pastel streamers and balloons hung on the walls and ceiling. Mareena had somehow dug up 1960s movie posters, which were tastefully placed all around.

Barda had done a great job with the catering. A huge table hugged one of the walls, overflowing with healthy and not-so-healthy food. There was enough for everyone, even for the Flash’s humongous metabolism, although the speedster had told them he was skipping the party for “familial obligations.” The martian suspected the Allen boy simply wanted to avoid trash duty.

J’onn J’onzz observed the festivities while munching on a bowl of oreos.

This year the party had games. Ravager and Cyborg were leading opposing teams in charades. The score was currently tied.

Halfway through his bowl, he sensed something amiss. The party seemed to be missing around 120 kilograms worth of Kryptonian dear leader.

He put his empty bowl down on the counter for used plates, then made a beeline for the monitor womb. He phased through the walls, careful not to disturb the pipes and circuits. His suspicions had been correct. When he got to his destination, he saw Clark at his terminal. He materialized beside his friend, who acknowledged him with a nod.

“Crime doesn't stop for Christmas,” the Kryptonian explained. “In fact there are evildoers down there who would take advantage of the festivities for their nefarious deeds.”

Crime was at an all time low. Clark knew this best. He of all people should be the least paranoid, and out there celebrating with the rest. J’onn found the other's behavior a bit unsettling.

“Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing is happening tonight.” He indicated his terminal. The text feeds showed a minor looting in Central City, already handled by local police. Melbourne, Tokyo, Seoul, Beijing, Moscow, Amsterdam, Lagos, Buenos Aires, Paris, London, New York, Los Angeles—all clear. Gotham was out of their jurisdiction. Metropolis and Star City were also quiet.

J’onn and Mr. Terrific had crunched the numbers recently. Criminal incidents had been going down by at least two percent per year for the past decade. With violent crime, the steady reduction was even greater. In fact, nowadays the League was just as often rescuing people from natural disasters instead of outright chasing after malefactors.

“There might come a time when the Justice League will not be needed.”

“Perhaps,” J’onn agreed, somewhat hesitantly. “Although I think it is exactly the Justice League’s presence that has made the world the way it is today. The entire world thanks you for it.”

“Where is Diana? This will be the first Christmas party she has missed in a long time.”

“She’s leaving with the Lantern Corps contingent in a couple of days, so she said she wanted to spend more time with Bruce.”

Clark turned back to his terminal. The text feeds moved, ever so slowly.

After a while, the martian asked, “Are you alright?”

“You can sense my jealousy?”

“It is quite acute.”

The man of steel crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his head in a rare display of dejection. “I’ve mourned my wife for ten years, and my son for thirty. Why can’t I still move on?” He shook his head in a failed attempt to clear his thoughts. “Bruce, Diana… I want to be happy for them. I really do. But whenever I think of them together, I can’t help but also think, why couldn’t that have happened to me?”

 

Nightfall in Gotham.

It had been a long day for the Amazon princess. Her first conjugal Christmas eve was being spent attending party after mandatory party courtesy of her newly-immortal spouse.

She was no stranger to parties. Socialization had been part of her duties during her short stint as the Themysciran ambassador to the United Nations, and as an occasional Justice League spokesperson. She had experienced nights like this during Bruce’s youth: over fifty years ago when the League had been newly founded, and again when they briefly dated in 2006.

Things used to be so different. Back then he had treated the parties as a means to an end, when there was always some kingpin to chase or a mastermind to spy upon. But it wasn't so tonight. The parties they attended that day were either award ceremonies or charity balls affiliated with the unquestionably successful Wayne-Luthor food program. Bruce was congenial as always—master of hiding his emotions as he was—but tonight she got the impression that he might be ...perhaps… genuinely enjoying himself? People surrounding him were at odds from the crowds he used to frequent. There were none of the clawing, two-faced gold diggers that she remembered with disgust. She wondered what had caused the change, and when it happened.

She finally saw him with a group of five girls. Their hair colors ran the gamut of the natural spectrum—blonde, light brown, redhead, brunette and black. They looked no older than university students.

She shook her head in disbelief. Her amazing husband. Eighty-four years old and still the colossal playboy.

The dark-haired girl stood closest to Bruce, and she spoke the most animatedly. Diana approached the group and placed herself on the brunette’s side opposite from her spouse.

“Oh, Wonder Woman, Madam,” the brunette said without skipping a beat, “I hope you're having a great evening. We shall leave. We don't want to be a bother.”

“Please, stay.” she hooked the girl’s thin arm around her own muscular one. “I overheard you say guys say Shakespeare.”

The girls twittered excitedly. The brunette explained, “Oh, yes. We’ve been discussing The Bard during our night classes.”

“He was a good friend of mine,” she said. Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow at her, and she wondered if it was surprise or something else she saw in his expression.

“Oh, wow!” “What was he like?” “Did his girlfriend really dress up as a boy—?”

“Did he write any poems about you?” the redhead wanted to know.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I don’t think we should have this discussion around my husband. But let me tell you this,” she removed the brunette’s hand from her elbow. In one swift move she was on the girl’s other side and had hooked the girl’s other arm around Bruce’s. “There is some truth to the rumors of the bard’s ...preferences.”

She waved goodbye with a one-sided grin as the girls oohed and aahed, while her mystified spouse glowered at her retreating backside.

 

Diana walked past the ice sculptures and the buffet tables towards the wall that was the focal point of the festivities. On it hung a photo collage featuring the three years of _No Hungry Home_.

She recognized a few of the images. Sometimes the food program’s resources got directed into disaster relief operations which intersected with Justice League missions, so she saw Superman, Barda or Kai-Ro in the odd image. One particular photo caught her eye. She took a closer look, and to her surprise, she saw herself.

She guessed more than actually sensed Bruce approach her side. “That was quite a show, dearest. What’s this about you and Sir William and how come I’ve never heard of—”

She waved him off and showed him the photo. “Bruce… why am I here?”

He blinked, as if reorienting himself after the sudden change of topic. “Don’t you recognize it?”

She frowned thoughtfully. “This is from the coverage of the Algerian Superquake in 2052. It’s got nothing to do with the food program.”

“That is the photo that started it all, and I always ask the volunteers who create these collages to include it. It is no coincidence that our food program launched in Algiers. You and Green Lantern led the rescue teams during the quake aftermath.”

“But this photo only has me and children in it.”

“You like children, don’t you? Clark and Kai-Ro are very friendly to children too. A lot of Leaguers are, come to think of it. But you go out of your way for children.”

“There are no children on Themyscira.” She smiled sweetly at him. “They have always been a wonder to me.”

Bruce took a breath. He explained, “When I saw that photo, it hit a nerve. After my stroke I had shut myself away, too proud to let you see the invalid I had become. Before I knew it, thirty years had passed. Terry had taken over my old job, he had his own _real_ family, and Gotham no longer needed me like it once did. The bouts of loneliness were overwhelming at times. But that photo made me realize there was much I could still accomplish. Although I could no longer—” _be Batman_ , he couldn't speak it aloud. Diana took his hand and squeezed it affectionately. She shook her head, indicating he need not go on, but Bruce continued, “—I could no longer perform physically-intensive tasks, I was still the head of a very large, very financially-able conglomerate.” He raised the hand holding his own and pressed her knuckles to his lips. “In a way, you could say that I started all of this because of you.”

She blushed, and smiled meekly. Even though she should know better, she could never resist his charms, especially when he focused them upon her in full force. He was exceptionally sophisticated in his Bruce Wayne persona, and she was quickly learning that deep down, he was all his personas at once. Unlike his youth, he no longer switched between one or the other.

“After the quake, I sent out letters to other multinationals, to ask if anyone would be interested in a collaboration on the relief efforts. Lena responded. With LexCorp’s substantial assets added to my own, it dawned on me that we could do so much more than mere disaster relief. A few weeks and a lot of meetings later, _No Hungry Home_ was born.”

She confessed, “I followed the food program saga in the news. I mean, even though we didn’t talk for years, I still cared… I read about you in magazines every now and then. The food program had your name on it, so of course I read every article. Curious how they called it ‘Wayne-Luthor’, even though you were hardly ever mentioned. The media always focused on Lena.”

“A pretty young blonde is a far more effective fund-raiser than a geriatric old man. The program would not have had my name at all if I could help it, but Lena refused to sign anything unless my name was listed first.”

“Does Lena know about…?”

He nodded in the affirmative. “She visited the manor once, and sensed me five hundred meters underground. When I exited the bookcase, she was waiting. Coupled with a few notes from her father’s files, she put two and two together.”

Diana looked once more at the photo collage. Thousands of communities and millions of lives worldwide had benefited by the food program and its affiliated charities. On the wall there were a million smiles. A warm fuzzy feeling flickered deep within her belly. What a gift—for a gift it was—to know that she had inspired a chain of events so instrumental in making the world a better place.

She turned to him to ask a question, but stopped as she observed something. Someone. She pointed, and Bruce turned to look.

At the far end of the gallery walked an elegant old woman. She had a half-empty champagne glass in one hand, which she downed in one gulp. She handed the empty glass to a passing waiter as she made her way across the room, eventually stopping by the wall to observe the couples on the dance floor. As she walked, there was no mistaking the sway of her hips.

Selina.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go on, talk to her,” Diana gestured him away.

He looked at her like he thought she was insane. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Shoo.” And so he did.

As he turned his back to her, she suddenly felt very odd. She had just told him to go talk to an old flame. But no matter how anxious she became, she knew he would want the closure. They both would. It felt like the right thing to do.

 

Bruce was miffed as he walked over to Selina. Did nothing ever faze his princess? No matter how many or how pretty were the women he had on his arm, she never seemed to care.

Selina was the past, and he did not live in the past. Not anymore.

A generic waltz played over the speakers as he approached his former companion. Her midnight gown complemented the white of her hair, done up in a french knot to show off her nape. She was thinner than he remembered, but otherwise held her age well for a woman over seventy.

He tapped her on the shoulder. “Miss Kyle? Or is it a Mrs…?”

“Still a Miss Kyle,” she answered, turning to him. She had recognized his voice and he saw no indication of surprise in her manner. She addressed him like they were old friends, as if no time at all had passed between them. “I'm here with my oldest grandson, whom you would be happy to know takes nothing after me.” She held her hand out. “This slow dance has our names on it. Come on.”

He took her hand, and before he knew it he had his arm around her waist and they were twirling about with the other couples in the middle of the room. “You're as graceful as ever, Selina,” he observed. She gently gripped his shoulders as he lead her across the floor.

Her voice was soft and age-worn. “As are you, Bruce. You're just as handsome as I remember you.”

He shrugged. “I never thought of myself as good-looking, not even when I was in my prime. Girls were attracted to either my money or… my intrigue.”

“You don't have movie-star looks, I’ll give you that. Do you think that ever mattered?” Like a cat, her eyes narrowed to disdainful slits. “All these years and all those lovers and you still don't understand women. You still think that none of us truly loved you simply for who you are? You think your metahuman wife would tie herself to you for eternity on a whim?”

“Actually, that's pretty much how it happened.”

“Ever the fool. Poor Diana, I don't envy her at all.” She rolled her eyes and looked away from him to observe other dancing couples. They remained quiet for the rest of the waltz. Oddly, the silence did not feel so awkward. Perhaps there was simply nothing more to say.

Selina smirked slyly. “I always thought that if I couldn't get you to settle down, nobody else could. Imagine my surprise when I was proven wrong. At our age, too. I don't feel too bad about it, considering I lost to a living Greek goddess. Kiss me again for old time's sake?”

He thought twice about it. He eventually decided that a kiss between them would be inconsequential. Hesitantly, he leaned his face close towards her cheek.

A _CRASH!_ followed by a surprised _Great Hera!_ came from the direction of the buffet tables. Several waiters promptly headed in the direction of the noise.

Bruce stopped prone. He instead took Selina’s hand and kissed it lightly. They both knew this was farewell. “Please excuse me. I think my superhero wife just knocked over the ice sculptures.” He hurried over to the commotion.

Wonder Woman, while admiring an ice sculpture, had accidentally knocked it over into a punch bowl and was profusely apologizing to the servers. Fruit punch had spilled everywhere. The adjacent buffet table was ruined, and one side of her pure silver gown had large splotches of deep pink. A waitress was trying her best to comfort the Amazon, assuring her that accidents happened and everything was alright, that were used to it and this was no trouble.

Diana seemed to calm down as the others started cleaning up. However, he could see the telltale flush on her ears that indicated her chagrin. She was making the face she made when she wanted to slug someone she wasn't allowed to.

His princess was jealous. She was actually jealous of a seventy-year old woman.

“Send me the bill,” he handed a young waiter his business card while he simultaneously grabbed a folded sky-blue runner off of the nearest empty table. He reached his frustrated companion and deftly wrapped the tablecloth around her shoulders like a blanket. He carefully escorted her outside, pausing only to signal the valet to retrieve their car.

As they stood by the curb waiting for their ride, he whispered into her ear, “I’m cancelling the rest of our plans tonight. We are going back to the manor right now. When we get home, I am ripping that dress off and fucking you into next week.”

“What?!”

He immediately kissed her mouth, in a supreme gesture of self-preservation, keeping her off-guard before she remembered what her illustrious fists were capable of doing best.

 

Rex parked carefully in the lot outside a three-story brick building. They were running late. Almost midnight. Last stop on Lena's list. They were finally back in Metropolis.

“I need to make a quick phone call,” he told her as she opened the passenger door to get off. “I’ll be with you in five.”

“Sure.” She pointed behind her. “Once you pass the entrance, turn right. Office is the second door on your left.”

As soon as the passenger door closed behind the LexCorp CEO, he scanned the car interior for any marks that would identify the car owner. Satisfied there were none, he straightened on his seat and pulled out his smartphone.

Time to call the folks.

He couldn’t tell his parents about his current mission. Even if the information hadn’t been classified, he wouldn’t tell them anyway. His mom, especially, kept grudges. After getting pulled out of early retirement on Thanagar about twenty-six years ago to help suppress yet another supervillain coup d’etat, they’ve got a pretty big grudge against Lex Luthor. He didn’t know if said grudge extended to the next generation. Neither Superman nor Wonder Woman bore a grudge against Lena, certainly. But his parents? He decided he didn’t want to find out.

John and Shayera Stewart’s visages appeared on his phone screen. He noticed his father had dyed his hair black again, otherwise John seemed hale and in superb health. Shayera, full-blooded Thanagarian with a lifespan of 200 years, looked no older than a 40-year old human. They were obviously not overcome with rapture to hear from him.

‘Mom, Dad, Merry Christmas,” he greeted.

“How is your arm? Did you get the cast off yet?” his father asked.

“Why are you calling us from a car?” his mother wanted to know.

“You're supposed to be here, with family, right now,” John Stewart said sternly. “What are you doing that is so important you can't leave it, yet not important enough to be official League business?”

“Sorry, Dad. Bodyguard duty, life and death thing. I'll try to get someone to sub for me on boxing day.”

“Make sure you do.”

Shayera interrupted, “So, what is this special assignment? Who are you guarding?”

“That’s classified, Mom.”

“I certainly hope he’s been behaving himself.”

“She has been very cooperative.”

“Grand matriarch or royal spoiled brat?” Shayera never let up.

“Business executive, twenty-five.”

“Oooh. Is she pretty?”

 _Plain and sometimes irritating_ , he immediately thought. “Very pretty,” were the words that instead came out of his mouth. ”She’s got her quirks but you’d love her.” As he said it, he realized it was true. Brutal efficiency was a trait that Lena and his mother shared. If only she had a different last name

After a few more pleasantries, he quickly said his goodbyes with a promise to contact them again very soon. The call might have took seven minutes instead of the intended five.

With brisk steps he followed Lena’s directions towards the office. It was empty. He closed the door. Walking a little faster, he checked the nearby unlocked rooms. All empty. A sudden dread rose like bile at the back of his throat.

He headed back towards the lobby. The canteen door just opposite the entrance was open. Inside, an elderly janitor was mopping.

He urgently asked, “Did you see a blonde girl pass by here?”

“Nope, nobody. Eh, wait… Miss Lena did. She seemed kinda sick so her friend took her home.”

“Friend?”

“Chubby guy.” The janitor made a motion around his waist like he was outlining a hula hoop. “They went out back.”

He ran.

The back door opened to a thicket. No way, they couldn't have gone in there. Especially not if the guy had drugged Lena unconscious, as the janitor’s description implied. Getaway vehicle? He remembered seeing a red pickup truck when he had parked earlier. The man must have timed their exit when Rex went indoors. With a mental curse, he ran around outside to the front of the building as fast as his feet would go.

Sure enough, the other vehicle was gone. The only car remaining in the parking lot was the beat-up LexCorp company Volvo.


	4. Extreme Prejudice

_Extreme Prejudice_

It was a sunny Christmas morning in Metropolis. At a regular house, in a regular suburban neighborhood, two regular people were having Christmas breakfast. The regular man, albeit a bit on the big-boned side, seemed to be having the time of his life as he regaled the aptly-listening regular blonde girl with stories from his youth.

The front door imploded as Rex Stewart bodily smashed it with his Nth-metal mace.

The chubby man squeaked, then immediately found himself face-down on the ground in an arm lock with a glowering wingless half-Thanagarian pressing a heavy knee on his back. Two policemen followed in through the busted door, pistols held at the ready. They lowered their guns when they were satisfied there were no others in the kitchen. As per standard operating procedure, they set about inspecting the house’s other rooms. One of them quickly radioed to their station for backup.

Rex turned towards Lena, who hurriedly put her steaming teacup down. She held the first two fingers of her left hand up in a peace sign. “I'm okay, Rex. I'm not hurt at all. Sorry if I worried you. Technically he did kidnap me for ransom so, uhm, yes I would like to press charges.”

He took a deep breath to keep himself from ranting at the girl, who wasn't taking her situation seriously enough. Instead, using his good arm, he pulled out his communicator. The newer commlinks had additional functions, including taking photos. He snapped one of the suspect’s face. He clicked several buttons and then moved the comm near his mouth. “J’onn, I need ID on our suspect. Sending the image now.”

From the other side he heard an affirmative. “Give me several minutes. I’ll send it to you.”

“Thanks.”

He roughly pulled at his captive’s collar. “Who hired you to kill Lena?”

“What? No one hired me. I just really need the money.” The man snorted, incredulous. “Kill Lena? Why in the world would I want to kill Lena Luthor? She’s worth a king’s ransom alive.”

Rex frowned. Beside him, the cops were taking Lena’s statement. Sirens blared as police backup arrived. Soon, the house was full, and Rex cooperated as he let the local authorities take over the crime scene.

 

On New Year’s eve, the Atlantean Princess gazed out of the earth-facing windows of the Watchtower monitor womb. The watchtower was mostly empty, with just enough staff to keep their base ready for emergencies. There were no active missions at the moment. Crime had been remarkably slow, and Superman had approved almost everyone’s holiday leave.

Aquagirl glanced at the clock. It was approaching midnight, Eastern Standard Time. Mr. Terrific won’t be on shift until another eight hours.

“Hey.” Bart, in his full uniform, appeared beside her. “It's pretty quiet. Weren't the Green Lanterns supposed to group up here today or something?”

“That was yesterday,” Mareena corrected him. “They already left.”

“Who went?”

“From us, Wondy is the team lead.” She ticked off on her fingers. “Static Shock, Beastman, Raven.”

“The Titans. Oh, yeah,” Bart remembered. With a blur, he momentarily disappeared and reappeared with a couple of gift-wrapped boxes. He handed them to her, and she accepted gratefully. “Belated presents from Mr. and Mrs. McGinnis. Still no word from Rex?”

“No, not since his accident.” She turned to look out the window. Her melancholy was clear.

The Flash joined her in gazing at the view of their home planet. He asked simply, “Is that why you volunteered for monitor duty while everyone else is out celebrating with fireworks?”

“Maybe.”

“2057.” He repeated the number aloud several times. “There’s something I need to remember about the year 2057.”

“Why? Is anything big gonna happen soon?”

“Yeah, big enough that it made the primary school history texts.” He pursed his lips sheepishly. “Shame I was such a bad student.”

“Is it a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I can’t remember,” Bart answered, scratching his head. “Probably bad.”

Mareena made a face. “Is Braniac, Darkseid or Doomsday coming back again? You know, it's funny how one of Superman's most powerful villains can't even spell his own name right.”

“I really can’t remember.”

“Well, we'll just stop them, I guess. Humanity certainly survived or you wouldn't exist,” she grinned as she pointed out the obvious.

He added, “I could be wrong about the year too.”

“You can always pop back to the future to read about it, can’t you?”

“Nah. I’m lazy,” he grinned back. “2057 is already here anyway. We’ll find out soon enough.”

 

At the LexCorp residential penthouse in Metropolis, Rex switched his communicator off. He turned towards his ward, who was sitting on the sofa with her laptop.

“That was Superman,” he explained. “Good news. Green Arrow just caught the perpetrator who put up your and Oliver Harper’s bounties. Any would-be assassins should quit gunning for you soon. But it'll take a while for this to spread through the grapevine, so I need to stay with you for maybe a week more.”

“Coolio,” Lena replied without looking up from her machine.

He thought she would have been more excited. Nevermind. He walked over to the refrigerator to grab a drink. He had recently discovered that he enjoyed the bitterness of a pale pilsen. “Hey, Lena. Want a beer?”

“Thank you. Pass.”

“You sure?” he asked. “Come on, it's New Year's Day. Celebrate a little.”

“I'm sure.”

He shrugged, took a can of cheap supermarket beer, and made himself comfortable on his side of the sofa. He turned the wall-mounted LED TV on and grabbed his game controller. The Bethesda company logo spun on screen, and before long he was lost in the game’s virtual world of Tamriel. Since last week, he had moved the video game console from his room into the den. Partly because he didn't enjoy television much, but more because the living room screen was bigger. Lena didn't mind, since she was always on her laptop anyway. He almost got her to play Mario Kart once, but no dice. Hey, if he got to play video games on the job he wasn’t about to complain.

Without warning, the screen blacked out. He turned quizzically to the girl. Her hands were steady as she held the remote pointed to the TV. She abruptly stood up.

“Rex, you have to trust me, and this is very important. It's a matter of life and death. You need to stand here,” she pointed to an oddly specific spot beside her, “and you need to kiss me right now.”

He frowned in confusion. “What?” Was this a joke? What kind of game was she playing now? Lena had delivered the lines with a complete poker face, but the request was so strange, and he had seen enough of her quirks that he couldn't tell if she was serious or not.

“Just do it. Life and death, remember!”

So business-like, while she asked him for a kiss. Before he knew it he had stood up to stand where she indicated. He leaned down to peck her on the cheek.

“On the lips, please!” she insisted.

To the end of his days he would never understand what was in that moment that made him give in to her demands. He only met her two weeks ago. He barely knew her. She constantly got on his nerves. He hadn’t decided if she was the kind of person he wanted to keep as an acquaintance, let alone as a friend.

He kissed her lips and she shivered at the contact. She raised her hands and slid them along his jaw, pulling his face closer, forcing him to bend down to her level. Without warning, she felt him up. One touch, over quickly. He was so shocked at the move that she was easily able to push him down onto the couch without breaking their kiss. She gasped as they fell. She gingerly pulled away. And then she whispered, in a voice as cold as the winter wind, “I knew it was coming. Please don't ever blame yourself.”

What was coming? Why would he blame himself?

She suddenly fell against him. As he caught her, he felt a wetness at her side. When he raised his hand, to his horror, it was covered with bright crimson blood.

 _It takes extreme prejudice to pull a trigger to take someone’s life,_ Lena’s words echoed in his mind. _I can sense that from kilometers away._

Carefully, he laid her down on the couch, keeping her level and making sure she could breathe easily. He bodily pushed the sofa behind some nearby furniture—out of the line of sight of the terrace doors from where the gunshot likely came from. He didn't want to risk her getting hit again. He then rushed to the wall and smashed his fist on the alarm button.

First things first, stop the bleeding. Lena was awake. “I think I'm okay,” she told him, trying to be cheerful. “I don't hurt anywhere.”

He ignored her, instead searching her abdomen for wounds, and found only one. No exit wound. Chance of internal bleeding. He pressed his palms against her injury to keep the blood from flowing.

The door opened, and Lena’s secretary and several aides rushed in. The secretary gasped once, then quickly ran to her employer. She turned to Rex.

“We're all trained,” she told him. “Paramedics are on the way. We'll take it from here.”

 

Rex ran out to the the terrace. He could still catch the assassin. One arm outstretched, with his bad arm pressed close to his body, he jumped. The Thanagarian Nth-metal wings expanded on his back, catching the wind, wider than the open double doors of the penthouse he was quickly leaving behind. In his regular clothes, without his armor, the winter air stung his face and skin as he flew. He ignored the discomfort just as he forcefully stamped down the anger invading his thought processes. Time for that later. Straight as an arrow he flew for the rooftops of the adjacent city block.

At the top of an industrial building, he found the remnants of a sniper’s nest. A couple of mounted rifles were still in position—non-military grade, obvious enough to him. The assassin had intentionally left his gear behind in the rush to escape. Rex looked around for the latter’s most likely route, and saw a door leading inside the building.

He called into his comm. “I know this is a long shot, but I will give you a LexCorp building address and Lena Luthor’s access codes. Can you find out which employees went to work during the holiday and which one is most likely fake? I got an assassin on my hands. Lena’s been shot.”

"I'll try,” answered Mr. Terrific. Rex sent the data via commlink and waited expectantly. After several anxious minutes, he got a reply, “Found him. There's almost no data traffic today so he's sticking out like a sore thumb. Let me send you a photo.”

 

A dark man in nondescript civilian clothing nonchalantly exited the LexCorp building. He didn't get far.

Warhawk landed immediately in front of him, wings wide, intimidating in a quiet rage. The man froze briefly, then quickly reached for a hidden glock on his waist holster. Rex was faster. With a one-handed swing of the Nth-metal mace, the assassin found himself sprawled face-up on the tiled concrete floor.

Rex roughly turned him over to lie on his front. He grabbed the other man's arms and willed his mace into a pair of handcuffs, which he promptly used.

The man laughed mirthlessly. “Just my luck. Warhawk. The bodyguard is Warhawk. I thought you were special, but I didn't realize you were _that_ special. LexCorp is in cahoots with the Justice League, huh? Nowhere in my research did I see even a hint of that.” He shook his head ruefully, “I never miss. Your little empath sensed I was targeting you and decided to play hero.”

“You targeted _me_?”

“I knew my escape would go much better if I killed you first. She'd have been easy to take down after you were out of the picture.”

Rex pulled out his communicator. He heard Mr. Terrific’s acknowledgement, “Yeah?”

“Got him. I'm at the east side of the building. Send backup stat.”

He put the comm down. He couldn’t keep himself from kicking the downed man’s flank, just once on principle. Almost as an afterthought, he retracted his Nth-metal wings and plopped down on the floor beside the tied-up assassin. He lowered his head, frustrated he could do no more.

It was a waiting game now. Without a care, the wind was blowing.


	5. No Choices

Over a week passed before Rex was finally allowed to visit Lena Luthor while she recovered from her near-fatal wound at the Greater Metropolis Medical Center. The rest of the New Year holiday had come and gone uneventfully. He visited his parents on Thanagar for a few days. When he returned to earth, he finally went and had his cast removed at the Watchtower medical bay.

As he entered the Metropolis hospital, he carried a bouquet of roses, of the same variety he had seen at the LexCorp entrance square during the day they first met. He figured he couldn't go wrong with yellow roses.

She was sitting up when he arrived at her room, her eyes busily plastered to her laptop screen, as usual. He cleared his throat, and she turned to him, flustered. Her mouth dropped open as if to say something, but she closed it again quickly.

“Why did you do it like that, Lena?”

She hung her head. “I wanted a kiss. I like you, a lot, if I haven't already been obvious about it,” she admitted softly. “I wanted to make sure you didn't suspect anything until it was over. Maybe there's a part of me that wouldn't mind dying for a cause. I've already seen death from my trips abroad. I don't know.” Her expression hardened. “Anything else?”

“Not really.” He walked to the table near the window. He briefly searched for anything he could use as a vase, after finding none, he simply laid the bouquet down. She got annoyed.

“I'm not in the mood for small talk, Rex. Your mission to protect me is over, and you did an exceptional job all things considered. Why are you still here?”

He frowned angrily as he turned to her. “Am I not allowed to just visit you?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “A lot of guys have courted me. Almost all of them, I could sense were just after my money. The rare few wanted me for my body. You're the only one who has ever liked me just for being me.”

Ah, so that was it. Suddenly he was irritated at her, then irritated at himself, and then irritated at life in general. He let it pass. “You know, until you told me just now, I wasn't even aware I liked you.” He shrugged, then unceremoniously sat down on the chair by the hospital bed in resignation. “But I suppose it's true.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

He showed her.

 

“I don't want to hear excuses, Clark. _She got shot._ No one gets shot on my watch. It’s unacceptable,” Bruce glowered at his secure landline.

Superman had several things to say to him. He retorted, “I triple checked her security details—” He did a double-take. “She dismissed them at the last minute?” His grip on the receiver tightened. “I suppose not. I should've made sure they reported directly to me.” Not that it would have made a difference, given the timing. He made a mental note to have a long talk later with the girl about this.

He then asked the Kryptonian a question much closer to home, “Any word from the Lanterns?” There was a long pause from the other end. Negative. Without further ado, he hung up.

The house was eerily silent. Kevin and Ace had retired for the night. Almost nothing in the manor had changed in the past several years.

With Selina, he had always known when she was in his residence. There was the stray scent of too-strong perfume. An unpaired silk stocking, deliberately planted to taunt him. With Barbara, it would be a random stack of university notes, or a forgotten, half-eaten biscuit.

With Diana and her Spartan habits, there was nothing out of place.

Was that a thing with Greek goddesses? They leave no physical traces of their passing.

 

On the barren, adobe plains of Scadrial, Wonder Woman knelt. She closed the young Lantern’s eyes.

He was Karm Toren of Karazia. Humanoid, yellow-skinned and green-eyed, he spoke little and rarely smiled, but when he did it was sincere. He had insisted on going on this mission, despite his ring’s lack of usefulness on the planetary surface. He had known the risks. They all did. Now, Karm would risk nothing ever again.

His sacrifice was not in vain. The rest of their team had managed to escape unscathed with the refugees.

“You really shouldn’t turn your back to me, you know,” her opponent surmised. “It’s just common sense.”

Diana stood up. “Hello again, Dolos,” she addressed her ancient enemy, the Duke of Deception, by his primeval name. She could think of a myriad other retorts. _Hi, it's been a while. I never did get to ask what exactly brought you here to the other side of the galaxy. What moniker do you go by now? How was hell and Hades? How did you survive a stab through the heart?_ None of his answers mattered to her, really. Besides, asking might just provoke him into a villain monologue, which would be useless coming from the master of lies. So instead she said nothing.

Donna had been wrong. The Amazons’ superhuman prowess might have been immune to the red planet's strange magic-skewing properties, but Wonder Woman had been very much affected. She had discovered it the hard way during the last time she fought the same enemy who stood before her now.

On Scadrial her lasso refused to tell the truth.

She clenched her fists in barely concealed anger. “I thought I killed you.”

He put on a smirk that she wanted to wipe clean off his face. He answered, “You did. I just came back. Woah, woah,” he raised his hands in mock surrender. “You plan to kill me again? Tut, tut. You’re all so predictable. Especially you. You think your fists can solve everything.”

She shook her head. “We don't have other options besides fists. There’s no negotiating with people like you.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “How about this. Like I told you last time, you should join me instead.” He clasped his hands in front of himself. He stood waiting, thinking that she would attack first. “I know, I know. You’re not even going to dignify me with an answer.” He grinned wider when Diana didn't move. He extended his hands. Copies of himself appeared side-by-side, surrounding her in a tight circle. Shadows. Illusions. “However, you see, you really don’t have a choice anymore.”

Diana almost laughed. She didn’t need the lasso to see through his illusory magic. Only the original glowed with power. Had he really thought he could stop her with his shadow clones?

There was some kind of medallion inside his chest. She could feel it pulsing with energy. Somehow she knew, it was the key to everything.

She blinked, momentarily confused. Why could she see it now, but not during their previous encounter? No matter. She would end him today.

She rushed at the real Duke and broke his arm. The illusions disappeared. His entire face contorted in pain as he stepped back, the bad arm dangling at his side. “Ah, shit, why can't you just make it easy for me. Just once.” Abruptly, he straightened, facing her head on.

She punched her fist straight through his ribcage. He coughed once, but was otherwise unfazed by the gaping cavity in his chest that would be fatal on another.

“Much better. Believe me, I am going to enjoy this, Diana.”

Too late did the nagging voice in her head warn her she had made a mistake. Much too late when she, as the demigoddess of truth, should have realized it from the beginning. Her lasso hadn't lied. The wrong powers were not wrong. The Duke of Deception had not been deceiving her before. All of it were real.

Her fingers closed about the medal. Acute pain exploded from the old wound on her left breast. She saw countless tangent universes, each extending unto infinity.

Everything turned red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! We finally have the world-building episodes out of the way. Now, who's ready for more Wonderbat? :D Well, too bad, because up next is four chapters of over-the-top SMBM bromance.
> 
> To be honest, I didn't enjoy Black Flag and Cold Hands. I just really needed them, or the story wouldn't make sense. The Justice League isn't just about my favorite characters. They're a team, and there's an entire world that they live in. To me, wonderbat is bigger than just the two of them, and I need to write about the world in order to show that.
> 
> I have often wished that I never thought of Tangent Space. But I suppose I don't really want to leave it unfinished either.


End file.
